After hours
by cutiesonthehorizon
Summary: Another exorcism, another day. Tomas gets hurt and Marcus patches him up. Set in the six months between S1 and S2.


A/N: Just a short whump fic with some TLC. As always, thanks go to my beta reader Starrylizard. Any mistakes left over are my own design:) I hope you enjoy the story.

* * *

"In the name of Christ, we compel-" Tomas didn't get a chance to finish the sentence, he was flying through the air, straight into the cabinet filled with trinkets; the one with the glass panes. The glass broke into a million pieces, along with several porcelain figurines, all showering Tomas with shards as he crumbled on the floor. Marcus threw a panicked glance his way, but didn't stop his litany of prayers. He couldn't.

There was a thirteen-year-old boy in the throes of a possession, buckling under his hands, lashing out and spitting vile curses. The boy's mother was crying on the other side of the locked door, pleading and praying with them. Tomas had to wait.

"David, you must fight it," Marcus pleaded in between incantations, still hoping they could beat this demon; that it wouldn't end in a tragedy like Mexico.

The boy bucked under his hands then snarled in a voice that wasn't from this earth.

 _"Your god has abandoned you, your church spat you out like rotten food. You're nothing, Marcus, nothing without your little cub,"_ the demon spoke. It was twisting truth and lies and driving the dagger deeper into Marcus' stomach. But he didn't give up, didn't listen. He knew this game, had played it for forty years.

"Church might've abandoned me, but God didn't," he growled, spraying the demon with Holy water and continuing his prayers, the rosary and cross in his hands a warm reminder that he truly wasn't alone. He didn't dare to look at Tomas, knowing the demon would use any sign as a weakness and exploit it even more. Still, when he felt a familiar hand squeeze his shoulder, he dared to glance up. The relief of seeing Tomas standing and relatively unscathed made him stutter on the verse. Tomas gave his shoulder another squeeze as a sign that he was okay and joined Marcus in the prayers, the demon howling in anger.

Several hours later an exhausted pair of exorcists left the house in downtown Salem after successfully ridding this world of another demon. David was lying in his bed, his body worn out and covered with the signs of trauma the possession brought on him, mixing with the already existing scars from his self-harming. There were many reasons why the demon chose David, but Marcus hoped that his family or what was left of it would help him overcome them. Once the demon has finally left the boy's body, an equally exhausted Tomas let the mother inside the room.

"David?" she asked, her voice hoarse from the praying, eyes red from crying. "Is he..." she didn't dare finish the question, so Tomas reached out gently and gave a small nod.

"He's alive. The demon is gone."

The woman practically collapsed in his arms, sobbing with relief. Tomas winced, but held on to her, maneuvering her towards her son's bed.

"You'll need to call an ambulance, Miss Jackson. The demon did a lot of damage... David will need some care," Marcus explained and the woman nodded, but her sole attention was on her son. She cradled his face, covering it in kisses and tears, softly calling his name over and over again.

Tomas and Marcus exchanged a sad glance. The boy had a long road ahead of him and it was rocky even before the whole possession began. It wouldn't be easy for a single mother who tragically lost her husband just a few months ago to overcome what had happened.

Marcus touched the woman's shoulder, pulling her attention to him.

"David will need some help... to deal with what happened. Father Miguel from your parish should be able to help or at least point you towards the right people. If David needs anything else, Father Miguel will know how to contact us."

"I- I can't thank you enough, father Tomas, father Marcus," the woman said gratefully, giving Marcus a hug. Tomas stepped closer and grabbed her hand, giving her his blessing. He once again winced when she gave him a surprise hug and this time earned a frown from Marcus.

"We should be on our way, Miss Jackson. I don't think the ambulance crew will be as understanding about our presence as you were," Marcus said carefully. Miss Jackson nodded, once again offering her thanks before calling the ambulance. Both Tomas and Marcus gave their blessing to David, who blinked at them blearily, too exhausted to comprehend what just happened. He mumbled "'m tired," and fell into deep sleep. Marcus and Tomas picked up their things and walked out of the house, toward their pick-up parked further down the street.

It was a crisp spring afternoon and the sun was just setting. There weren't many people on the street, but they watched the rugged looking priest and his partner curiously. When they reached the car, Marcus sat down behind the wheel, feeling relief at finally being able to sit down. Next to him, Tomas gingerly tried to sit down but couldn't stop the hiss as his back touched the seat.

"Are you hurt?" Marcus asked, frowning at the priest and remembering the moment he went flying through the room. But that was several hours ago and since then Tomas stood strong next to him during the whole exorcism. Still, the hit must've caused at least some bruises on his back.

"I'm... not so sure," Tomas admitted and Marcus froze, not expecting such an answer. Tomas saw the concern in his eyes and gave a small shake of head.

"It's not that bad... just... I think there are some shards stuck in my back," he explained, hunching forward in the seat.

"Let me see," Marcus commanded, cursing at the dying light of the day and Tomas's black attire that hid any evidence of blood. Tomas didn't turn, just let his head rest on the dashboard.

"Doubt you can see anything... and we should really get moving. Just leave it till the motel," he added tiredly. Marcus wanted to protest, to tell him that he'd prefer to be close to the ambulance crew if Tomas had a shard of glass stuck in his back, but knew it wouldn't be wise. Still...

"Just a quick check," he muttered, and ever so gently touched Tomas' back, running his hand softly over it. Tomas hissed and winced as even the ghostlike touch caused several cuts to flare to life, but didn't move away. Marcus could feel the uneven fabric of Tomas's shirt and small glass shards underneath, so he just ghosted over the back, hoping he won't encounter anything big. Luck seemed to be on their side though.

"Okay, let's get you to the motel. I'll drive slowly, but you should probably change position, or the first cop we pass will stop us."

Tomas grunted and straightened up a bit, turning so he was leaning against the seat with his shoulder.

"I must say, I'm quite impressed," Marcus said after several minutes of a silent ride. Tomas opened his eyes and looked at him questioningly.

"That demon threw you against the cabinet several hours ago. You spent the rest of the time waving around your bible and the crucifix without me noticing you were hurt."

Tomas snorted.

"Think we were both a little preoccupied. I didn't really notice the pain until we finished," Tomas admitted a bit sheepishly. Marcus gave a small nod and focused on the road. He was being extra careful not to drive over bumps or make sudden stops and Tomas really appreciated that.

"Do you think he will be okay? David?" Tomas asked a few minutes later. He hadn't met the boy before, but saw the scars on his arms and legs. Some of them were new, some looked to be several months old.

"He saw his father commit suicide. I don't think he will ever be 'okay'," Marcus said, his voice tight with his own memories. He knew what the boy was going through, lived through similar hell. But he didn't have a loving mother to turn to and there was no washing away his father's blood from his hands. No, by all means it should've been Marcus on that bed, forty years ago. But he got through it, somehow and found god. Maybe David could too.

"Children shouldn't suffer that way," Tomas said sadly and Marcus bit his lip.

"No one deserves to suffer that way," he said after a moment. "Children are the most vulnerable and the demons know it." There was disgust and anger in his voice and something else, something lost. Tomas sighed, suddenly too tired to even think. He didn't know how to help Marcus, how to take away his pain and he didn't know what to say, so he stayed silent. Fortunately, they reached the motel in short time. A few more minutes and Tomas wouldn't have cared if it looked weird, he was all ready to just curl up in the seat, facing the window and letting his back breath, so to speak.

He made it to their motel room without help, his posture stiff and hunched like an old man's. Marcus was by his side nevertheless, keeping an eye on him as well as shading him from any possible curious eyes. Luckily it was already dark outside.

First thing Tomas did when they stepped into the room was to pull off his collar and put it down on the bedside table. Then he stood in place, unsure what to do. All his body wanted was to fall down on the bed and sleep for a day or two. Neither of them had managed much sleep since they arrived in town and it was taking its toll. But he could feel the stinging cuts on his back and was sure there'd be some pieces of glass still stuck in there. As the problem was on his back and out of his reach, he turned to Marcus who was currently rummaging through his bag.

"I don't want to bother you, but could you-"

Marcus looked up from his bag, a first aid kit already in his hands.

"Gotcha. Okay, let's patch you up."

Tomas bit his lip and gave a small grateful nod. He wasn't really used to this... being cared for. Tomas was used to patching up Marcus, the man seemed to be a magnet for trouble, especially of the demon kind. They had their share of flying across rooms or even dodging bites. But if he could, Tomas tended to take care of his wounds himself, even though it didn't always work out in his favor, the incident with the bitten hand and Maria Walters coming to his rescue come to mind.

"Tomas?" Marcus called his name and Tomas startled, blinking at Marcus who was suddenly standing just a foot from him, one hand gripping his arm.

"You okay there?"

Tomas swallowed then nodded.

"Yeah. Just... zoned out for a moment," he admitted, blushing.

Marcus gave him an assessing look, then nodded towards a chair in the kitchen part of their room, or at least what passed as a kitchen, with a table, two chairs and a small sink and fridge.

"You want to do it there or in the bathroom?"

Tomas imagined sitting himself on the cold tub in the tiny bathroom and vetoed that idea instantly.

"Kitchen's good," he muttered and walked over to the table, ignoring Marcus who was trying to act as his second shadow. He paused at the chair, then started unbuttoning his black shirt. It was slow and he kept wincing, but when Marcus reached out to help him, Tomas glowered at him. Marcus huffed and muttered something under his nose. He put the first aid kit on the table and walked to the bathroom, leaving Tomas to struggle stubbornly with his buttons.

Tomas quickly realized that declining the offer for help might've been rather foolish of him. There was no way he was getting the shirt off without help and a lot of cursing. Sighing, Tomas gave up the effort and slipped down onto the chair sitting backwards, putting his head onto his folded arms on the backrest.

"How attached are you to your shirt?" Marcus asked out of nowhere, once again startling Tomas.

"Huh?"

"Eloquent. I doubt we can take it off without causing more damage to your back, so..." Marcus held out a pair of scissors. "I just wasn't sure if you had anything else priestly to wear," he added with a smirk and Tomas snorted.

"As if you haven't seen my luggage," he muttered. "Go ahead, I can't find the energy to care anymore."

"Can I have that in writing? Just in case you change your mind tomorrow and start bitching about me cutting up your favorite black shirt."

Tomas moaned and let his head fall back on the chair. He winced as he felt the scissors touch skin, but Marcus was careful and did a surprisingly quick job with the cutting. Pulling off the last piece seemed to be a bit problematic, as the fabric pulled on one or two of the shards. Tomas hissed, his breath hitching, but Marcus put a steadying hand on his bare shoulder and followed it up by a shushing sound and a stream of calming words.

"Just a moment, this part seems to be stuck. Sorry," he apologized even as he pulled the last of the shirt off Tomas' back, eliciting a groan of pain. "It's okay Tomas, just breath through it," he said softly. Tomas did as he was told, grateful that Marcus gave him a moment to pull himself together. Although the lack of jokes about Tomas acting like a child told him his back probably wasn't a nice sight.

"How bad is it?" he asked once he got his breathing under control. He could feel a trickle of fresh blood running down his spine and what felt like a million stinging cuts covering his back and he was a bit glad he couldn't see the damage himself.

"It looks worse than it probably is," Marcus said, even as his fingers started gently touching skin.

"That's... not that comforting," Tomas hissed when Marcus pushed down on what must've been a hell of a bruise.

"Sorry. No, you'll be fine. Trust me, I've seen worse... had worse."

"I've seen some of your scars, Marcus," Tomas reminded him. "That still isn't comforting."

Marcus chuckled at that and walked away for a moment. When he returned, Tomas had a flask pushed into his hand. At his confused frown, Marcus rolled his eyes.

"For god's sake, just take a swig. You haven't eaten for a while, it should work better than the painkillers we have."

"I don't need it," Tomas protested halfheartedly. Last thing he wanted was to drink that drivel Marcus called alcohol.

"Look, there's a shit ton of glass in your back and quite a few bruises. It'll take me a while to pull all the pieces out, then flush the wounds. It will hurt like hell, trust me. I'd rather have you drunk off your ass than twitching at every move I make."

Tomas looked up, seeing the sincerity in Marcus' eyes as well as concern. He could tough it out, he knew he could, but this wasn't some stranger putting him back together. This was Marcus, who already had a hard day and obviously felt bad at every twitch and hiss Tomas gave. He looked equally beat and the last thing he needed was a stubborn young priest making him feel guilty at his attempts at help.

Tomas acquiesced. Opening the flask, he took a whiff of the acrid liquid inside. Knowing that putting it off would only make it worse, he took a big swig. Grimacing, Tomas fought the urge to sputter and spit the whiskey out, instead swallowing the liquid fire. He pushed the flask at Marcus who gave a soft chuckle, but pushed it back at him.

"Take one more. Trust me, it'll help."

"Ugh," Tomas swallowed again, unable to hide his distaste. "Enough." He put the flask down on the table, wondering how long it would take for it to take effect. He didn't have to wait long. There was the warmth spreading from his stomach across his whole body and he could feel a strange tingling in both his legs, almost like a soft cramping after a hard run. He blinked, surprised how light his head suddenly felt.

"Wow," he muttered and Marcus chuckled again.

"You're such a lightweight," he said with fondness. "How do you feel?"

Tomas let the question run over his head. Obviously, the long pause was enough of an answer, because Marcus pulled up the other chair and took the tweezers from the first aid kit.

"Like I could sleep forever," Tomas mumbled after a moment, the tugging at his back less painful than he expected. Or maybe it hurt but he just didn't really give a damn. He chuckled at the thought, then hissed. Seemed like moving around while Marcus was playing pincushion with his back wasn't advisable after all. "Still hurts," he added as an afterthought.

Marcus paused.

"Should I give you more time?"

"Nah, don't want you to think I can't handle it," Tomas said drunkenly, his brain to mouth filter obviously off. Marcus bit his lip, starting to second guess the wisdom of giving Tomas whiskey without some food.

"I don't think that, Tomas," Marcus said in response and Tomas frowned, turning his head to look back, almost unbalancing the chair he was sitting on. Marcus huffed, putting a hand on his shoulder to keep him in place.

"Stop fidgeting, or I'll add stabbing with tweezers to your list of ailments."

Tomas chuckled, forgetting his previous line of thought.

"You know... when I came back to America, I thought tweezers were pincers of the crab. I was really confused when Father Neal at the seminary kept looking for his tweezers. I offered to take him to the crab shack," Tomas babbled and Marcus couldn't stop his own chuckle.

"Why would you even think that?"

"Huh?"

"That tweezers were part of a crab?"

"Oh, it's pinzas in Spanish, but that also translates to pincers. Guess I got a bit lost in the translation." Tomas gave a shrug and Marcus let out a curse as a glass shard slipped from his hold and a trickle of blood run down Tomas' back. Tomas didn't seem to notice.

"Dios mio, I could really eat some crab right now," Tomas sighed and his stomach gave a grumble of agreement.

"I'm afraid we're a bit too far away from a crab shack. But I could order some chicken wings and fries," Marcus also felt hungry, though he wasn't sure if either of them could stay awake long enough for the food to arrive. Another shard was successfully pulled out with the "pincers" as Tomas renamed the instrument and joined the growing collection on the kitchen table.

"I'd eat just about anything," Tomas said wistfully. "Aren't you hungry, Marcus? I haven't seen you eat, not since we met David."

"Was a bit too busy," Marcus muttered and put a restraining hand on Tomas' back just as he was about to work on the biggest piece of the glass. This one seemed to be lodged in good, just under Tomas' shoulder blade. "Try not to move now, Tomas."

"He needed help," Tomas said, ignoring Marcus' request.

"Yes, and we helped him," Marcus said automatically, focusing on not losing his grip.

"No... before us. He needed help before us... but there was no one."

Marcus frowned, trying to pay attention to both what he was doing and what Tomas was saying, but having trouble with both.

"What on earth are you talking about, Tomas?"

"David," Tomas said, sounding as if that was a stupid question. Marcus rolled his eyes, for a moment ignoring his protégé in lieu of playing amateur surgeon. The glass seemed to be larger than he expected and curved. Marcus had to work carefully not to break off any piece and Tomas moving around wasn't helping at all.

"Stop that incessant moving for one damn minute!" he snarled just as Tomas moved his hand. Marcus regretted the outburst almost instantly as he saw the muscles on Tomas back and shoulder tense, making his job even harder. He sighed, suddenly feeling older than ever.

"Hey, come on. I didn't mean to snap," Marcus spoke and was expecting a shrug or a short 'whatever' from Tomas, but he didn't move, didn't react.

"Tomas?"

"What?" he snapped back, sounding like an offended child and Marcus rolled his eyes. He was too old for this. Next time he's going to patch Tomas up, he'll just knock him out totally... or let him suffer through it, sober. Drinking definitely wasn't a good idea.

"Can you just... relax and hold still for a minute? I'd really rather not do more damage than there already is."

There was a sound that was eerily similar to a sniff, then both shoulders slumped down as if in defeat. Marcus' eyes closed in silent horror and he started praying in his head. 'God please, don't let him start crying'. There was another suspicious sniff and Marcus swallowed down a curse.

"What's wrong now?"

"Nothing," Tomas replied gruffly. Marcus frowned, puzzled by the tone. It didn't _sound_ like Tomas was crying, but then why all the sniffling? Marcus stood up and stepped in front of Tomas, who had a rather peculiar look on his face. Something between a frown and grimace.

"Did you hit your head or are you having a stroke?" Marcus asked, annoyance battling with worry.

Tomas shot him a glare then shook his head.

"My nose is itching... and you forbade me from scratching it," he said as a petulant child and Marcus snorted, one hand rubbing at his face in disbelief.

"Christ, I thought I made you cry or something," he muttered, suddenly amused.

"Well, are you finished? If I don't scratch, I'll start sneezing," Tomas said, his face turning an interesting shade of red.

"Scratch away. I still have one piece left, but I'd rather you not sneeze when I start digging it out. Unbelievable," Marcus muttered and sat back down on his chair, trying not to chuckle as he heard the sound of relief from Tomas who was finally able to scratch his nose.

"Are you done?"

"Mhm," Tomas muttered and relaxed, easing back on the chair. Marcus waited a moment, making sure Tomas didn't change his mind then finally pulled out the last piece of glass.

"Ow," Tomas protested, but it was only halfhearted and about five seconds too late. Marcus smirked, but he quickly lost his smile. He needed to clean the wounds and there was a lot of small cuts... it might've been easier to just usher Tomas into the bathroom and use the shower spray to clean it up, but that would involve both of them squeezing into the tiny bathroom and Tomas looked just about ready to fall asleep. Marcus felt worn just the same and thought if he would need to drag Tomas somewhere, the nearest bed would be all his energy would allow. With a sigh he stood up and went to find a basin for the water. When he returned, Tomas looked to be sleeping, his body precariously balanced on the chair.

"What am I gonna do with you?" Marcus muttered under his breath, shaking his head. He gently pushed at Tomas's shoulder to straighten him up on the chair, so he wouldn't topple to the side. Tomas mumbled something indiscernible but didn't wake. Of course, Marcus knew that wouldn't last as he dipped a towel into the water with a bit of soap. When the towel touched one of the deeper wounds on Tomas back, the young priest jerked, startled out of his sleep, his breathing hard.

"Qué?"

"Está bien," Marcus soothed, squeezing Tomas' shoulder, reminding him where he was and that he wasn't alone.

"Oh," Tomas blinked, taking in his surrounding in that sleepy stupor. "Is it my turn?"

"Turn for what?"

"David... the exorcism," Tomas mumbled, then turned and looked at Marcus.

"David is okay, Tomas. We finished the exorcism," Marcus replied and gave him a slight smile, for the moment pushing back his worry that maybe Tomas hit his head too. It was probably just the sleep deprivation and the alcohol. "I just need you to relax so I can finish cleaning up your back."

"Mhm," Tomas settled back into his original position, head resting on his arms, eyes slipping closed. "Wake me up then, I'd like to go to sleep," he mumbled and Marcus snorted.

"Sure, that sounds logical." He waited a moment, until Tomas' breathing slowed down and the tense muscles in his back relaxed, before he resumed the cleaning of the wounds. He was careful and Tomas seemed to be too knackered to really care, because except for a few sounds of distress and tensing of muscles he didn't really wake, not until Marcus was finally finished. Tomas' back looked like a war zone... there were several deep bruises all across his skin, the angry red color of the shallow wounds in stark contrast with the white gauze hiding the deeper cuts. Marcus was just glad Tomas usually slept on his stomach, because trying to sleep on his back would be next to impossible for the following days.

Standing up, Marcus grimaced when he felt his own joints and bones protest at the abuse they were subjected to in the last few days. While his stomach grumbled, his eyes were barely holding open, so sleep seemed the more prudent thing to do.

"Okay, sleepyhead. Come on, get up. I'm not dragging your ass across the room, you're way heavier than you look." Marcus shook Tomas's shoulder, while his other hand automatically reached for the back of the man's neck, to stop him from panicking, while also checking for possible fever. He was glad when none of that was needed.

Tomas just groaned and uttered something in Spanish, but it was too muffled for Marcus to understand. Or maybe it didn't even make much sense.

"What was that, sleeping beauty?"

"Just let me sleep," Tomas muttered, this time in English and Marcus chuckled.

"I doubt you would appreciate that when you topple over and undo all my good work. Now come on, it's just a few feet. Don't make an old man break his back 'cause you're too lazy to move."

"Old man?" Tomas blinked, his voice more awake than before. Marcus rolled his eyes.

"Sure, that's the only thing you hear?"

"Mhm... the creaking of your bones woke me up," Tomas said and straightened on the chair, grimacing when he felt the movement pull on his damaged skin and bruised muscles.

"Sweet. That's the thanks I get for patching you up. See if I do it next time," Marcus grumbled, but he helped Tomas get off the chair and when he stumbled, Marcus offered a shoulder to lean on.

"Okay, to bed with you," Marcus said gruffly when it looked like Tomas decided to take a nap on his feet, head against his shoulder. "I don't have all that many shirts, so really don't appreciate being drooled on."

Tomas blinked then shot him a glare but it was lost in a moan of pleasure as he finally hit the soft mattress.

"I don't drool," he said and squirmed, trying to find the best position for sleep. "And you owe me a shirt," he added for good measure as Marcus threw a blanket over him.

"Knew I should've got that in writing," Marcus said, but he was smirking and Tomas was already out for the count. With a sigh, Marcus rubbed at his tired face, feeling the dirt and grime. Shower was the logical next step, then sleep. The food could really wait until morning. He had a feeling that he should use whatever chance he got to sleep. He'd never had a chance to see Tomas drunk before and didn't know how bad he was with hangovers, but Marcus was pretty sure that, once awake, he would have his hands full with one hurting and cranky priest. Despite that... Marcus looked at the relaxed form lying on the bed with fondness. Just the thought that there was someone after an exorcism, whether successful or not, whom he could call a friend, made his heart fill with warmth. For a long time he'd been doing this all alone and it was good to know that when he woke up after a gruesome nightmare, there might be someone to tell him it isn't real, that they saved a soul. Maybe if he saved enough of them, maybe he could feel whole again. Maybe God would speak to him again.

Tomas on the bed snored and Marcus realized he was staring, lost in thought. With a shake of his head he pulled the blanket up to cover Tomas' shoulders, to hide the marks left by the day's work.

"Goodnight, Tomas," he said and headed for the shower.

The End.


End file.
